


Be Your USA

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, coachella, music festivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Daniel and Lewis getting high and dirty at Coachella. Peace and love.
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	Be Your USA

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for a [anon prompt on the f1ficprompts tumblr page.](https://f1ficprompts.tumblr.com/post/646027626651303936/daniel-and-lewis-getting-high-and-dirty-at)

California weed is something else. It’s _strong._ Daniel knows this because of the little fuzzy white crystals that pack every nook and cranny of the buds, the way his fingers are still sticky an hour after crumbling it into a peach-flavored rolling paper. He knows it from the way the smoke slithers out of his mouth in syrupy ribbons. He also definitely knows it because he’s gone vaguely numb all over, in a pleasant way — like just before you fall asleep. How the hell is this shit legal?

Daniel knew there was a reason he loved California.

Lewis squints at him. Or, he would, but his eyes are already creeping shut under the influence of the powerful bud. “I thought you were into the music. Or, like, the food.”

Daniel regards the burning roach between his fingers. “Nah, that’s good and all, but this is true innovation. No one is doing it like these American bastards.” He takes another scorching drag and offers it to Lewis, who accepts graciously.

They’re pretty far off from the beating arterial heart of the festival, hiding out behind the VIP. Still, high-tempo EDM rings out from the main stage, crawling under Daniel’s skin, making him feel like dancing even though he barely can coordinate himself enough to check the time on his phone. The heaviness behind Daniel’s eyelids make it easy to just stare at the stars and the slow-moving lights of the ferris wheel.

“I forgot that you, like, get stupid. ‘S hard to even talk,” Lewis says finally, holding out the last smoldering bit to Daniel. Daniel waves it off — he’s probably had more than he needs in his lifetime. Lewis kills the joint and stubs it out under one horrendously expensive sneaker.

“Hey, come on now, some of us were already stupid,” Daniel deadpans. Lewis meets his stare, still holding in the smoke, feigning confusion, but then the silence breaks and they’re both laughing, wheezing out plumes of smoke, descending into a series of truly gnarly coughs, bent over and hacking acrid spit onto the dirt.

It takes a long minute for them to catch their breath again, the cooling night air soothing on Daniel’s throat. His mouth is dry and he’s got to wipe dusty tears off his cheeks from the laughter and Lewis is doing the same. A bit of wind blows Lewis’s printed linen shirt around him, flipping up the fabric to reveal slivers of tattoos. Daniel shivers in sympathy.

Lewis opens his mouth in hesitation, like he’s about to crack a joke, set them off laughing again, but then he puts one hand on Daniel’s chest and kisses him, hard-enough that their weed-clumsy bodies end up in the dirt.

“Ow,” Daniel says, in between kisses. They both taste like carbon but Lewis’s fingers feel stupidly good under his shirt — almost tingly. It doesn’t even matter that his hands are cold.

Lewis props himself up on one arm. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just — fell.” Daniel shrugs lamely, which is the only way to shrug when you’re splayed out on the ground.

Lewis laughs into the crook of Daniel’s neck, the out-and-out laugh Daniel’s always gunning for but rarely achieves. He’s rocking against Daniel like a teenager. Some solitary sober brain cell tells him that this is a strange thing to be doing in the California desert, but it’s easily drowned out by the hazy want suffusing his body.

Daniel usually talks through the awkward parts of sex, the fumbling and the zippers and the undressing, but Lewis is right, it _is_ hard to talk, so instead he just has to let his eyes fall closed and _feel._ Lewis’s body isn’t a bad place to start.

* * *

They wake up together in Lewis’s disgustingly comfortable bed. _Jesus._ Daniel thought _his_ hotel was nice.

“Morning, sunshine,” Daniel mumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the blinding morning sunshine. He knew there was a reason he hated California.

Lewis turns over and opens one eye. “Morning,” he says. His voice sounds shredded, but Daniel’s isn’t much better.

Daniel is so used to seeing Lewis _on,_ bright, purposeful, winning and shining like it’s what he was born to do. He didn’t ever think he’d see Lewis with morning breath. The pang of affection he feels is enough to convince him it’s time to get up and moving. Isn’t a good night’s sleep meant to knock the high out of you?

“Damn, it’s getting late. I should, uh, get a move on, right?”

Lewis opens both eyes now. There’s that determination again. “You’re not gonna be, like, weird about this, are you?”

“No, I mean, _no._ I’ve woken up in weirder places,” Daniel says, deflecting with a wink.

“Alright, then will you at least get me a glass of water before you go?” Lewis looks up at him like he’s asking for a hell of a lot more than water. He looks so fucking good, even though they didn’t really shower off. Daniel needs to get out of here, _stat._

“Sure.” He fills up a cup in the sink and when he places it on Lewis’s bedside table, Lewis covers his hand with his own. There are the two little rose tattoos, not quite matching, a happy accident.

“You sure you’re not being weird?”

“Er—”

“Because you look like, I dunno, you’ve lost your dog or something.”

“It’s, uh, weed hangover?”

Lewis looks unimpressed. “Yeah, you’re being weird. If you want back in bed, I bet your side’s still warm.”

It’s not Daniel’s fault the bed is so comfortable, or that the warmth of two under the covers makes it so hard to leave. It’s not his fault that Lewis is always a few steps ahead of the pack, realizing that sleeping in beats morning-after self-consciousness any day. Daniel crawls back into bed. “Never counted you as one to sleep in.”

Lewis bats at him with one of the seemingly millions of pillows that hospitality has managed to fit on the bed. It bounces off Daniel’s shoulder and onto the ground. “Shut up man. I’m on vacation,” Lewis says. He’s smiling. Daniel wonders if he could fit his fondness in the gap between Lewis’s front teeth. “They deliver weed here, right?”

“Of course they do. But you better get the weak stuff. Fucking _America._ ”


End file.
